


pour yourself all over me

by Catnipandspice



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - High School, Best Friends, Bisexual Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Cockblocking, Come as Lube, Confessions, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Dry Humping, Exhibitionism, Feelings Realization, Flirting, Friendship, Future Fic, Gay Marc Anciel, Getting Together, Grinding, Groping, Hand Jobs, Hiding in Plain Sight, Horny Teenagers, Idiots in Love, Late Night Conversations, Lila Rossi Bashing, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Original Akuma (Miraculous Ladybug), Porn, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Public Hand Jobs, Public Masturbation, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Semi-Public Sex, Slash, Smut, Voice Kink, lila is mentioned being punched in the face
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-19 05:20:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29621217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catnipandspice/pseuds/Catnipandspice
Summary: Marc doesn’t want to fuck up his and Nathaniel’s friendship. Despite how his other friends insist he should ask Nathaniel out. Despite how Nathaniel seems to get more and more tactile and intimate with him as time goes on.Every time the two get close enough for them to cross that line, Marc pulls back, scared that he’s forcing his feelings on Nathaniel.Then the boys get in a situation that’s a little hard to get out of. They reach that tipping point, on a wire-thin edge between ‘friends’ and ‘something more’. And Marc is forced to make a choice.
Relationships: Alix Kubdel & Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Juleka Couffaine/Rose Lavillant, Marc Anciel/Nathaniel Kurtzberg, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 57





	pour yourself all over me

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Welcome to more porn. But this time, with an actual plot! Strange, I know.
> 
> This fic has a lot of character exploration and internal turmoil from Marc. He's got some self-loathing to work through. So if you don't like to read characters with deep self loathing, or read porn with feelings, this fic might not be for you.

* * *

Marc is grateful for Nathaniel’s friendship.

Considering their rocky start, it’s a miracle they’re able to work together. A miracle they’ve gotten so close, over time.

Marc doesn’t want to fuck it all up. God forbid he confesses to Nathaniel one day. He’ll ruin all the progress they’ve made in the past year.

The way Marc’s stopped stuttering and literally running away from Nathaniel. The way Nathaniel doesn’t hesitate or cherry-pick his words anymore, worried he’ll sound dumb or say something to upset Marc. The way Marc can laugh freely at one of Nathaniel’s dumb jokes without covering his mouth or worrying about how he sounds. The way Nathaniel feels so comfortable with Marc, he’ll just casually lean against Marc to take a nap.

These were all hard-won actions built over time and familiarity, over open communication, over hours spent in one another’s presence. They were precious to Marc.

His friends in Art Club all insist he should go for it; he should ask Nathaniel out. But Marc is digging his heels in, just this once, reinforcing his spine and standing strong. Nathaniel only sees Marc as his friend, nothing more. Marc would rather die before he breaks the others’ trust with his own unwanted and inconvenient feelings.

Besides, what do the others know…? Marinette has never actually had a successful romance before, because she can’t pick between the three different people that want to date her. It took Juleka and Rose literally half their lives to get together. And Alix isn’t even interested in romance, so how would she know Marc and Nathaniel would work as a romantic couple?

Marc thinks he knows Nathaniel well enough, thank you very much. Nathaniel is quirky and sassy past his shy exterior, with all these little habits built up from his disorders that are hard to keep track of unless one is dedicated to remembering them, which Marc most certainly is. As partners that spend hours together working on their comic book at a time, nearly every day of the week for the past year, Marc can read Nathaniel as well as one of his favorite novels.

  
Plus, Nathaniel is frankly a _thirsty_ motherfucker. He drools over all of Paris’ heroes, minus Queen Bee. He’s not shy when it comes to his opinions on how hot people can be, typically elbowing the writer in the side and whispering a litany of lewd things in Marc’s ears about his targets. It’s like a game to him, a way to be a horny little goblin while also trying to get Marc to get flustered and blush like a firetruck.

It’s like a constant game of gay chicken, only it gets more complicated, convoluted, and involved every few weeks. It’s like the artist just adds these new and unspoken rules to their silent game. Like he’s got a list of things he’s working through to get Marc to finally break. To give into temptation.

The writer has no idea _why_ Nathaniel is going through with all this. Maybe he’s using Marc as practice before he tries wooing himself a boyfriend, or something.

If Marc was any less charitable and Nathaniel any more of an asshole, he’d almost think the redhead was trying to get Marc to break down and make out with him as a joke, just to see if he was good enough to get his gay best friend to go “full gay” on him. Considering Nathaniel decked Lila Rossi in the face last month for trying to set up that bullshit rumor, the writer at least knows that isn’t the truth.

Still… Marc’s already having trouble not misconstruing his time with Nathaniel as something romantic or charged with tension. He’s doing his best to be respectful and not allowing his own feelings to cloud his judgement or the time they spend together.

Nathaniel is a tactile person who has touch as a love language. All the hugging and hand holding and cuddling and napping on him? The way Nathaniel drapes himself over Marc’s back for hugs, and pets Marc’s hair, how he’ll bury himself in Marc’s hoodies? Completely platonic. The fact that Nathaniel knows his favorite foods, books, and songs? Just things good friends would know; he’s just being attentive.

Nathaniel winking at him and putting his hand on Marc’s knee and sitting so close that Marc can smell his cinnamon shampoo? Either the redhead is as dense as a rock and doesn’t realizing he’s flirting with Marc, or he _absolutely_ realizes he’s flirting with Marc and is just playfully fucking with him. If Nathaniel is trying the moves out on Marc before he flirts with someone he actually wants to date? That’s fine. Marc will do him the solid.

A little homoeroticism won’t hurt a friendship, and guys can be close without wanting to date. Just because they’re both proudly out and like guys doesn’t mean they have to like _each other_. Nathaniel isn’t obligated to like Marc, despite his own feelings. And they certainly _don’t_ have to date just because their friends keep pressuring them into dating. God knows that sort of meddling bullshit hasn’t gotten Marinette and Adrien together, despite it being a year…

Either way, Marc has gotten used to Nathaniel, used to their close friendship, including all the odd bits of intimacy that comes from with it. Mostly.

The fact that they have sleepovers sometimes is still an exceedingly nerve-wracking activity for Marc. They’re both guys, so they don’t have to hide changing in front of each other. They can talk about whatever the hell they want without judgement. A little play wrestling or draping themselves over the other is fine. The writer has to constantly chant “ _it’s not romantic_ ” in his head, but he’s rolled with the proverbial punches.

Marc still hasn’t budged on sharing a bed with Nathaniel, however. That’s one of the few lines he won’t cross.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Marc always says.

“I know you’re gay, Marc. I know you won’t try anything on me,” Nathaniel always says in response, with complete steadiness and eye contact that makes the writer’s heart do a set of cartwheels.

Regardless, Marc is fine with the borrowed futon and pillows the Kurtzbergs provide him. And this system—including the little back-and-forth that’s a near argument, but never ends up being one—works for them. It happens every time there’s a sleepover.

And Marc’s okay with that.

* * *

Marc is usually okay with having sleepovers, but _damn_ can it be exceedingly awkward. Like right now.

He sometimes hears Nathaniel in the night.

Marc’s a bit of a light sleeper. Nathaniel’s no quieter when he lies in his bed than when he’s awake and debating Marc over the merits of Naruto openings versus one another, tapping his pencil against his sketchbook and tapping his foot and snapping his fingers.

The noises he makes keep Marc up more often than not. The constant shifting around in his sleep. The light snores. The way he kicks his blankets off and on his body if he gets too hot or too cold.

There are other noises, too. Stifled moans, shuffling, the unmistaken sound of flesh moving against flesh. Even words thrown in the mix, muffled whines that sound crystal clear to Marc’s ears, in the nocturnal quietness.

The first time Marc hears Nathaniel call out his name, he almost springs right up and goes to check on the redhead. Stupid, really. He knows Nathaniel wasn’t being—being attacked by an Akuma, or something of the like. Only one Akuma ever existed that gave people nightmares, after all. And it certainly didn’t lead to just the victim lying in bed and whining out someone’s name in the most sensual manner possible.

So, Marc makes himself stay put, keeps his mouth shut, and hopes to any and all Gods that Nathaniel didn’t turn to see him wide awake on the floor. Just rigidly lying there, a meter away, silently listening to Nathaniel get off. Taking in each and every little hitch of the other’s breath, the slick sounds of Nathaniel using his own precum to lube up his cock, the moans only half-muffled by his pillow.

Marc feels like a creep. A complete and utter creep. But _damnit_ , his dick is so hard, it’s _painful_.

He doesn’t touch himself that night. Tells himself that it would be crossing a line.

Hah. As if the line hadn’t been crossed already, with the number of wet dreams he’s had of Nathaniel and him, bodies writhing and slick with sweat as they fucked like animals in heat.

He pretends that it’s just a natural reaction his body is having. That is has nothing to do with Nathaniel saying his name while he was jerking off, that it doesn’t mean anything at all, even as he lies there with a painfully hard and throbbing cock tenting his pajama pants.

But the next morning, Marc goes to the bathroom quickly to relieve some of the tension. He’s woken up with an intense case of morning wood, and he’s wound up like a spring, having been unable to do anything to his massive hard-on at night with Nathaniel there…

Marc ignores the fact that Nathaniel had no qualms with jacking off with Marc sleeping in his room. The redhead had no qualms at all, and even said Marc’s name during the session, in fact. But if Marc ignores it, maybe he can convince himself it’s not true.

So, that’s what he does. Ignores it, as he braces himself against the bathroom wall with one arm stretched out. He pulls his dick from his pajama pants with a shaky breath full of nerves and guilt, wrapping his hand firmly around it. He thumbs the head of his cock, dipping it under his foreskin so he can gather the drops of precum already leaking out of the slit, using it to slowly slick himself up.

Marc pants, working his hand over his length, which feels hot and throbbing under his fist. His eyes flutter, but he tries to keep them open, because every time he closes them, he sees Nathaniel's face and that was—He couldn't—

He wasn't going to let himself do that, wasn’t going to use his best friend for his fantasies to jack off to. He has a stronger will than that, he’d like to think.

So he keeps looking at the off-white tile wall of the Kurtzbergs second bathroom in front of his face. He looks, and he purposefully doesn’t imagine pushing Nathaniel against it and rutting up against the other. Doesn’t imagine it’s Nathaniel's fingers on his dick, instead of his own, sliding and twisting and milking Marc’s cock. Doesn’t let himself remember Nathaniel moaning out his name in that gorgeous, breathless tone, from last night.

When he cums, Marc bites his lips to stifle his moan. He’s surprised he doesn’t draw blood from how hard he clamps his teeth down. He licks his lips regardless, noting that he should put some chap stick on, just in case, when he goes back to Nathaniel’s room.

Marc cleans himself off and tucks himself back in his pants, washing his hands with extra soap and force than he probably needs to.

When he enters Nathaniel’s room again, the redhead is splayed out on his bed on his side, looking like a prince that wants to lounge in his bedchambers all day. His sweatpants are slung low on his shapely hips, and his hair is all flyaway strands of fire, blue eyes half-lidded and lazy.

“Where've you been?” the redhead asks lightly, lips curled. There’s a sly, amused gleam in his sea-blue eyes. Like he knows _exactly_ what Marc had been up to for the past few minutes on his little bathroom break, and who he'd had been thinking about during it. “You’ve been gone for a while.”

Embarrassment churns molten hot in his stomach, and he bites his tongue. He ignores the redhead, going over to his backpack to dig around for his chap stick and clothes.

“C’mon, don’t be embarrassed. Did you have to jack off or—”

Marc chucks one of his pillows at the artist’s face, his own face warm. He makes sure to give an exaggerated roll of his eyes and an exasperated, “Shut the fuck up, you horny gremlin.”

He ignores the other’s comments, chucking off his shirt and replacing it with a fresh one. He ignores the other’s eyes burning holes in his skin as he bends down to takes off his pajama pants, sliding on a pair of sleek yoga pants that he has to wiggle his hips a bit to get them on properly.

“I’m going to breakfast, now,” the writer tells Nathaniel blandly. He eyes the redhead critically, who’s barely moved from the spot on his bed. “If you want, you can go back to sleep, and starve.”

Nathaniel rolls his eyes. “Haha, very funny. I’m up, I’m up,” he drawls, slowly sitting up and passing a hand through his hair, looking damningly attractive while doing it.

Marc just turns on his heel and walks out of the room. His hormones are all out of wack, and getting away from his crush seems like a decent plan.

* * *

The thing about Nathaniel is, he never knows when to stop pushing.

Marc personally finds it to be a trait that’s _very_ Nathaniel, that stubborn streak and determination. It’s charming, and can even be admirable.

It also drives Marc up the damn wall.

The redhead’s restless energy, his anger, his passion… the hunger for better and brighter things in their future… Nathaniel’s feelings are a bonfire on a cold night, warm and enticing, wild but contained.

Marc is so smitten with the other, he’s resigned himself to thinking poetic things about every single aspect about the redhead. It’s a miracle he hasn’t written actual poetry about Nathaniel, yet.

Nathaniel’s sprawled out on his bed, gesturing for Marc with one frantic grabby hand. “Maaarc, c’mon…! This new Ladyblog video won’t watch itself!”

“It’s midnight, Nath,” Marc finds himself sighing, his will waning when Nathaniel looks up at him with bright blue puppy-dog eyes, features illuminated by his phone’s light.

“Well, it’s not like it’s _my_ fault Hawkmoth’s being a dick and made an Akuma rampage over Paris so late at night,” the other pouts. “Please…?”

The writer sighs loudly, rolling his eyes playfully, but readily ends up on Nathaniel’s bed crawling over to sit next to him. The bed creaks slightly from Marc’s weight as he shuffles in place, Nathaniel instantly slinging an arm around his back and snuggling into him.

“Toasty,” the redhead hums appreciatively, playing the video with his other hand. Marc fights the thrumming in his heart, telling himself it’s just from the adrenaline of watching the action on the phone’s screen, and not because Nathaniel is all but cuddling him in his bed.

They watch the live stream footage Alya takes of the newest Akuma. Looks like an Akuma that can teleport between streetlamps. Ladybug and Chat Noir run around the area wildly smashing streetlamps, while the Ladyblogger records all the while. They smash so many lamps, they trap the Akuma in one without any other light sources nearby. The Akuma attempts to leap into Alya’s camera light to escape, but the two heroes clothesline the villain before they can get to Alya—and possibly use her as a hostage, which has happened dozens of times already for the entrepreneurial reporter.

The Akumatized object gets broken, the Akuma butterfly purified, and the villain on the ground morphs back into a civilian. Who promptly breaks into tears—something about being scared of walking back to their apartment alone at night, which is a perfectly understandable concern. Ladybug and Chat Noir exchange looks, before the leather-clad hero kneels down with a sympathetic smile, offering to take the victim back home. The spotted heroine furiously waves at Alya and tells her sternly to turn off her camera. The stream cuts off right after.

“Huh. That was…” Nathaniel trails off, as the live feed ends.

“Actually an understandable Akuma,” Marc says quietly, sympathy swelling in his heart. When he looks over at Nathaniel, the other has a thoughtful look on his face, illuminated by the phone’s glare and washing the redhead’s skin and hair in a blue tint.

“When are we finally gonna do something?” he asks, and Marc freezes, breath stuttering in his chest. His gut clenches uncomfortably, before Nathaniel adds, “We can't let Hawkmoth get away with this forever…”

Ah. He was talking about—about Hawkmoth. That makes much more sense.

Nathaniel’s right, of course. They can’t let that bastard get away with his tyranny for however long he wants. It’s already been a year—what if the man goes on for another whole year? Two years? Ten?

But for now, they have to. They haven’t been called upon by Ladybug and Chat Noir again. The heroes are the ones that control who gets the Miraculous to help them against villains.

He turns to Nathaniel, who is already staring back at him, their faces surprisingly close. Marc shakes off his nerves and admits, “We can’t. But until then, we just have to be patient. Ladybug and Chat Noir are trying to balance a lot at once, and they need a little time to regroup before we go trying to hunt Hawkmoth down.”

Nathaniel’s lips twist, letting out a frustrated huff. “Damn condom mask bastard…”

“Hey. It’s okay,” Marc assures, grabbing the other’s shoulder and rubbing it with a thumb. “We’re gonna be okay.”

He feels the tension leave the others’ shoulders, feels and hears it when Nathaniel lets out a long sigh. “I…yeah. You’re right.”

“Let’s get some sleep instead of worry about it, alright?” the writer offers softly with an encouraging smile. “Sleeping always makes you feel better.”

“You say that like I’m some sort of hibernating grizzly bear,” Nathaniel snorts with a small smile. Marc takes that as a win, pulling away and making to slide off the other’s bed. Nathaniel is quick to grab his arm. “Hey, can you…”

Marc makes the mistake of looking back at Nathaniel, into his gorgeous and expressive eyes. He feels mesmerized and pinned in place, frozen completely by the way Nathaniel’s eyes glow iridescent like ice with the strange lighting against half his face.

The writer gulps thickly, but shuffles a bit towards Nathaniel. The redhead is quick to snuggle up to him, his smaller and curvier frame fitting snuggly against his body. He turns off his phone, and the two are plunged in the darkness only brought by midnight. Marc finds his heart jackrabbiting in his chest, waiting for his eyes to adjust, his body alight from the other’s soft warmth.

“Kim’s not liking waiting around either,” Nathaniel starts, fingers fiddling with the edge of Marc’s t-shirt against his hip. The artist’s fingers burn hot against the sliver of skin there, like a brand. “He got his chances ripped away from him, being able to help the heroes. But we’re still in the clear. If we all just went at it together—”

“They tried that before, remember?” Marc whispers. “And they all got captured and brainwashed. We need time to regroup.”

“Kim thinks we can do it—”

“Nath. Kim’s well-meaning, but he’s a himbo.”

The redhead snorts, his aura of solemn-tinged intensity breaking with the motion. He smiles crookedly up at Marc. The faint bit of moonlight from his blinds catches on his teeth, alighting his canines.

“You sure you’re not _jealous_?” the artist purrs out playfully, leaning even closer, subtracting a good few centimeters of space between their faces. He’s so close, his amused huff of breath brushes against Marc's face, and Marc is incredibly aware of the gleeful smirk aimed at him.

The writer shakes his head in an instinctual denial. “That's not what I—"

“Because you don't have to be, y’know,” Nathaniel says, quiet and sure, sea-blue eyes somehow managing to pierce Marc in place even in the gentle darkness.

Marc nearly jumps out of his skin when Nathaniel's hand shifts from his hip to land firmly on his upper thigh, the touch rough and blazing hot against Marc's skin, even through the layer of cloth of his pajama pants.

Once he remembers how to breathe, Marc inhales a sharp, unsteady gulp of air. “Nathaniel…”

It's meant to sound firm, warning the other to stop with his fake-flirting bullshit. But the way the name rolls off his tongue—it’s all wrong. Too soft, too breathless. Too _needy_ , achingly so.

“Yeah?” Nathaniel breaths back, voice low and raspy, sending heat straight to Marc’s core.

Marc feels feverish and queasy with want. He imagines rolling on top of Nathaniel right that second. Imagines pressing him down into the mattress and _taking_ him. Fucking him until he's soft and pliant, the only word on his lips being Marc’s name as he moans and whines it out, just like last night. Bending down and biting and sucking the other’s pale and tantalizing neck, gripping his hips hard enough to leave bruises as he fucks into Nathaniel’s juicy ass.

Show everyone what they want. The two together, at last. Nathaniel belonging to Marc.

And why shouldn't he? Take the redhead right here and now, in his bed? Nathaniel's clearly offering—

He feels the soft twist of a knife between his ribs, the flames of want smothered before they can start a fire.

_“You can’t do that. You shouldn’t,_ ” he reminds himself. “ _You only started this friendship and partnership with Nathaniel so you could be with him. You’re using him. He’s just lonely and horny, and probably wants to mess around with a boy._ ”

He can’t let Nathaniel be tricked, like this. Can’t let the both of them fall for the heady musk of arousal, the rush of adrenaline and hormones. He can’t let himself slip and ruin their friendship, ruin all the work he’s put into respect Nathaniel’s agency, ruin how he’s set aside own feelings and decided not to be _selfish_.

So he takes a breath, and states, “Go to sleep. It’s getting late.” He promptly turns away, dislodging the wandering hand in the process, and makes to leave the bed.

Marc is stopped in place by a hand on his shoulder. He tenses, sucking in a sharp breath.

Of course, it's not that easy. Nathaniel wouldn't be Nathaniel if he just accepted Marc running away from him without an explanation, after all the time they’ve worked at Marc’s anxiety so he’d stop doing that very thing.

“You sure…?” the artist asks, quiet, so achingly quiet.

Marc grinds his teeth to keep himself from saying something he’ll regret. Or, heaven forbid, _do_ something. “Yeah, I'm sure. We’ve got school after this, remember?”

Nathaniel lets go of his shoulder with a skeptical hum, but makes no other sound or movement. Marc takes that as his cue, sliding off Nathaniel’s bed, settling down on the futon on the floor. It’s cold and uninviting, compared to the bed.

Marc settles himself under the covers, hearing as the other does the same. They murmur goodnights to one another, Marc waiting in anticipation for Nathaniel’s usual quiet snores to fill the room.

When they do, he breathes a sigh of relief. It almost tastes like disappointment.

* * *

Marc supposes he shouldn’t be surprised that there’s another Akuma attack during school, but he still feels vaguely irritated and mildly disappointed that there is.

At the very least, at least Hawkmoth’s waited until lunch time to do his usual villainy bullshit. Half the student populace left to go get themselves lunch outside of school, so there’s less chaotic running and screaming than usual when the Akuma minions smash through the front doors and march in.

They look like toy soldiers. Either someone from the military got Akumatized—which is incredibly dangerous, but Marc wouldn’t put it past that Hawkmotherfucker—or a child got Akumatized. It’s terrifying that it’s an honest coin flip between the victim being an adult or child, but Hawkmoth genuinely doesn’t give a fuck, as he’s a supervillain.

Marc internally berates himself for his running commentary and the fact that he feels vaguely relieved at the Akuma interrupting their usual lunchtime. If only because Marc always spends lunch with Nathaniel, and there’s been a thick tension between them ever since last night that hasn’t left, even with the morning light bringing a clarity of mind that the sensual darkness of midnight had stifled.

This is all a very poetic bullshit way of saying that Marc is anxious and terrified of the Akuma, but kind of enjoys the fact that he has more important shit to worry about with the threat, versus his and Nathaniel’s almost-rendezvous last night.

The two are right at the edge of the courtyard, and quickly enter the hallway closest to them to dart away from the Akuma soldiers. It’s sadly the hallway that leads to the Gym, which is sparse and doesn’t have any classrooms down it. Fuck.

Marc hears the calls of the soldiers and clanging of armor behind them. A sudden flash of inspiration hits him, his heart pumping and mind whirring. He yanks at Nathaniel’s arm and dives them to the side, into a little nook near the entrance of the Gym.

“Wh-what—”

“Shhhhh,” he whispers. Marc presses close and holds his breath, hushing Nathaniel's stuttered protest with his hand. Fast, hot breath fans against his palm. The sound of his own racing heartbeat is unnaturally loud in Marc's ears, like a war drum.

The two stand stock-still, Nathaniel’s back pressed flush against the wall with Marc crowding him. The space is small, but it’s popular for couples to use to make out. It’s hard to see from the hall because of the angle, so there’s less chance of getting caught by teachers for PDA. Marc can’t count the number of times he’s seen Rose and Juleka stumble out of the nook while giggling breathlessly, their hair mussed and clutching hands.

There’s the sound of agitated voices echoing down the hallway. Shouts. Clattering. Marc and Nathaniel hold their breath in synchroneity, for a very long few moments, tensing up and waiting for the other shoe to drop.

They're lucky. The soldiers hurry past them without giving them a second glance, the clanging of their armor fading as they enter the Gym.

Marc only dares to breathe again when he’s sure the Akumas have left to search for other victims. He slides his hand off Nathaniel’s mouth, the other boy panting softly into the air. Once the tension bleeds out of his body, the drumming in his ears slowing, he becomes acutely aware of how close Nathaniel is.

The two teens are squeezed together chest to chest, to take up as little room as possible, to be as invisible as they can. Not a centimeter of space is left between them, bodies pressed flush, with Marc's left leg wedged firmly between Nathaniel's soft thighs.

And against his upper thigh, a hot weight, Nathaniel is obviously, unmistakably hard.

Marc freezes. He means to pull away—he really does, honestly—but he's rooted to the spot. Like a statue.

His eyes lock with Nathaniel's, green meeting blue. There's a challenge in the way the redhead looks back at him, eyes like twin flames, a heated fire that burns so bright it turns electric blue.

“You gonna run away again, Marc?” Nathaniel asks lowly. His voice is barely above a whisper, just loud enough for Marc to hear past the rushing of blood in his ears and the distant hubbub of the Akuma. It’s a voice that sends shivers down Marc’s spine. The motion makes him rock forward slightly, and the effect on Nathaniel is instantaneous. The redhead’s breath hitches, eyes fluttering shut, mouth falling open.

Marc can't look away. The artist looks sensual, and beautiful, and a thousand adjectives he can’t think of, because his mind is blanking.

Nathaniel's hands come up to grip Marc's hoodie, hard enough it somehow yanks the writer even closer than before. Marc’s leg slides just a bit further between the other’s thighs, and the redhead lets out a faint keen that shoots straight to Marc’s dick.

The raven-haired teen tells himself he's going to step away as soon as the Akuma minions have left for good, but he doesn't want to risk it. There’s no telling if the soldiers will double-back through the hallway, or if they’ve left Dupont for good. They need to stay put and—

Nathaniel grinds down.

His dick rubs against Marc's upper thigh. Even with two layers of denim between them, Marc can feel _everything_ , as if they’re naked. Marc can feel the heat of Nathaniel’s cock, the firmness, the exact outline and curve of the circumcised head.

He just can't tear his eyes away from the ecstasy written all over Nathaniel's pretty face, a low whine tearing from his throat, followed by a string of babbled pleas and curses. “ _Fuck_ , Marc. Feels so good. Marc, baby, _please_. I want you so bad, please fuck me, just fucking _take me_ already—"

The words are absolutely filthy, whining, all but dripping with want. The whines are like music to Marc’s ears, are everything he’s ever wanted to hear. They’re better than anything his wet dreams and dirty fantasies could ever come up with, because Nathaniel is saying them himself, warm body pressed tight against Marc and hard cock needy and insistent against his thigh.

It’s all real. Unmistakably real.

It’s also really _loud_ , the way Nathaniel whines and babbles and pants. They could be caught any second.

So Marc shuts him up by connecting their mouths in a kiss, half to make sure the Akuma don’t find them in their hiding place, half because Nathaniel's begging is _too much_ and makes his gut tight with need.

It’s sloppy and uncoordinated, with a bit too much teeth, but it feels amazing all the same. Nathaniel lets out a throaty moan that’s muffled by their lips and vibrates across their twining tongues, Marc taking advantage to lick into the other’s mouth. Nathaniel's fists claw at his clothes, pulling Marc closer. His willpower finally fails once and for all as he clutches back, one hand threading through the other’s flame-bright locks, the other gripping Nathaniel’s hip tightly.

Fuck it. Guess this is his life, now.

If he’s doing this, he might as well go all in. He presses more firmly against the other’s groin, deliberately and with intent. He feels the answering moan wet and hot against his lips, feels it as Nathaniel’s hips spasm.

It’s like a dam breaks. It’s all the permission Nathaniel needs to start humping his leg for real. The redhead’s hips snap forward, rutting against him, dick dragging across Marc's thigh in a frenzied rhythm. His breath huffs faster and faster against Marc's lips, and the writer stifles the mounting noises of pleasure as best he can.

Nathaniel rocking his body against his feels fantastic, feels electric. The weight, the heat, the friction, the dizzying scent of Nathaniel’s cinnamon shampoo and the lingering taste of chocolate on the other’s tongue. Marc can’t help but let his eyes flutter open to take in the breathtaking sight of Nathaniel’s face twisted into pleasure. The way the redhead’s fine brows wrinkle together as he whimpers and keens as Marc takes his mouth, and Nathaniel takes his thigh like his own personal saddle to ride.

Nathaniel is passionate, and handsy, and surprisingly loud. Like they’re not in a dangerous situation, where it’s imperative to keep quiet. Or maybe the fact that they’re in danger just riles the artist up further and makes him even louder. Either way, Marc’s sure Nathaniel is a screamer in bed, with the way he moans throatily against his lips, Marc breathing them all in.

It doesn't take very long at all until Nathaniel's body arches like a bow drawn tight, face tensing. Marc's lips clamp down hard on his to catch the sound of his wild, keening orgasm. His groan vibrates obscenely against Marc's lips and down their connected chests, so loud it leaks into the air alongside the smell of his musk.

Marc patiently lets the other ride it out, until the poor artist slumps against the wall, boneless. His fingers are still loosely gripping Marc’s hoodie, no doubt for stability. Marc keeps his grip on the other’s hips to help steady him.

Marc’s own dick is achingly hard in his pants. He closes his eyes and wills it down, but it won't obey. He bites his lip to bite down a frustrated whimper at how tight it feels against the restrictive material of his skinny jeans.

He reaches down to adjust himself, to relieve just a bit of the pressure. But Nathaniel is faster, his fingers cupping Marc firmly through his jeans.

“Let me,” Nathaniel pants out lowly, lips reddened and slick with spit, blue eyes hazy from post-orgasm bliss. “Wanna make you feel good, too.”

Marc pulls in a shaky breath of air, his cock pulsing and twitching as the redhead gently starts to massage and fondle him. Despite the roughness of the layers he’s wearing, it feels heavenly, feels _real_. His voice is pathetically high and shaky as he stutters out, “N-Nathaniel, I—you d-don’t have to, if you don’t w-want—”

“I want to,” Nathaniel states firmly, locking eyes with him with a look so intense, it’s like a punch to the sternum. “Please, Marc. I’ve wanted this for so long…”

Marc is used to not crossing the line. For once, the line’s been erased completely, with the confirmation that Nathaniel wants this. That Marc isn’t just projecting and forcing his feelings on the redhead. Isn’t taking advantage of him.

“M-Me too,” he finally admits in a whisper.

He doesn't grab Nathaniel's wrist to stop him when the redhead starts kneading him in earnest. Doesn’t force his eyes shut out of guilt. Doesn’t overthink. He just lives in the moment, lives with the euphoria, at how _good_ it feels to have Nathaniel’s hands on him in the way he’s only ever considered in the dead of night.

He bites his lip to stop the groan of pleasure from ripping past his throat and filling the hallway.

“ _There_ we go,” Nathaniel says, sounding wrung-out, but satisfied. And looking it, too. “Feels good, right?”

All Marc can do is whimper and nod his head, clutching tight against Nathaniel’s shoulders, rocking against his hand.

“Could’ve had this sooner,” the artist huffs out with a low little chuckle. Marc groans, eyes nearly rolling into the back of his head when Nathaniel tugs down his zipper and slides his hand under Marc’s boxers. Flesh against flesh, searing hot, but it feels so fucking _phenomenal_.

“Nath _aniel_ ,” the writer gasps, bucking hard into the other’s hand.

“ _Shit_ , Marc—you’re so big. Damn. Dunno how you even hide it in your skinny jeans,” Nathaniel rasps, licking his lips, an excited gleam in his eyes. “Y’know, if you’d just asked, I’d play with your cock. Anytime, anywhere.”

“F- _fuck_ ,” the dark-haired teen says succinctly, before surging in to connect their mouths in a kiss.

It’s heated and wet and sloppy. Now it’s Nathaniel’s turn to drink in all of Marc’s sounds of pleasure, muffling them against his lips. Marc pants like he’s running a marathon as Nathaniel’s hand wraps tight around his cock and jerks him off.

It's not the world's best hand job, Marc’s sure. It’s clumsy and hindered by the awkward angle they’re in. But it's _Nathaniel_ —Nathaniel's hand on Marc's dick, Nathaniel's fucked-out voice providing filthy words in-between their sloppy kisses.

“C’mon, Marc. Let go. Cum for me, baby,” the redhead purrs against his ear.

That’s enough to tip him over the edge and make Marc cum, spilling in his pants like the stupid, horny teenager he is. And _damn_ , does it feel good. He gasps loudly and lets out a low moan, eyes shut tight and hips stuttering as he fucks Nathaniel’s fist through his orgasm.

It’s the hardest Marc’s ever cum. He feels shaky and breathless, full of euphoric bliss, starbursts under his eyelids.

If this is how he feels just with Nathaniel giving him a hand job, God knows how good it’ll feel if they have sex…

As the dark-haired teen comes down from his high, he allows himself to slump, leaning his weight against the redhead. A few seconds of desperate panting as he greedily sucks air back into his lungs, legs feeling shaky and wobbly like jello. Nathaniel’s got an arm wrapped around his back, and Marc lets out a little sigh, resting his forehead against Nathaniel’s. They breath the same air, warm and panting breaths, satiated and quiet.

Marc slowly opens his eyes, looking into Nathaniel’s pretty blues. They’re gleaming and bright, both heated and soft at the same time. They look pleased beyond anything else, blazing inferno softened into lamplight. They look gorgeous.

Marc’s throat feels paper dry. He needs to tell Nathaniel the truth.

“I’ve had a crush on you before I ever met you,” he says, the confession spilling past his lips, because Nathaniel has the right to know. Should’ve known this from the very beginning, before he grew close to Marc. Before Marc used the comic to get closer to him from selfish self-interest. “I-I had a crush on the drawings of your Akuma self, before I connected the artist to you. Then I pined for you from afar. I—”

“I know,” Nathaniel says simply. Marc gapes back at him, stunned. The other has a small, awkward smile on his face, adding, “Well, I didn’t know from the very beginning. It took me a few months to realize it, actually. But I figured out you had a crush on me by the time I already had one on you.”

“Y-you have a crush on me…?” Marc stutters out dumbly.

Nathaniel just raises a brow pointedly at him, smile turning into something exasperated and fond. “Marc, I literally _just_ made out with you and gave you a hand job. _Yes_ , I like you.”

The writer groans in mortification, face going as warm as an oven. “L-Listen, I’ve just—I’ve been pining for so long, I didn’t—didn’t think this would actually happen. I thought I was self-projecting, and I didn’t want to force my feelings on you—"

“I’ve been flirting with you for nearly _four months_ , now,” the artist laughs, shaking his head incredulously. “Hell, half the time, I thought _I_ was self-projecting, since you always pulled back or ignored my attempts. I felt like I was going crazy.”

“…Oh,” Marc finally squeaks out weakly. “So you…weren’t…trying to play gay chicken with me. Or tried being thirsty as a joke. Or—”

“Marc Anciel, I’ve wanted to ravish you for the past four months,” Nathaniel tells him, dead serious, though his blue eyes gleam with mirth. “Literally every time I flirted and was ultra horny, I meant it.”

“Ah,” the writer says faintly, before turning and hitting his head against the wall, next to Nathaniel. He feels mortified beyond belief. All this time, he was worried of being a creepy and forcing himself on the other—and ended up purposefully cockblocking himself, instead. “ _Fuck_ me, I’m such a dumb, gay disaster…”

“I mean— if you wanna, we can ditch school right now and do that…” the other murmurs hotly into his ear in a low voice, causing shivers to skitter down Marc’s spine. “Though with how big your cock is, I wouldn’t mind pinning you to a bed and sliding my ass down on it, either. I’m not picky.”

Marc gulps thickly, mouth as bone-dry as a desert, Adam’s apple bobbing tight against his choker. “J- _Jesus_ , you’re a horny bastard.”

“You like it,” Nathaniel croons in response, nibbling slightly at Marc’s earlobe. Marc’s unable to bite down his breathy whine in response. “So? How about it?”

“Fuck it. We’ve wasted enough time,” Marc decides, his will chucked out the proverbial window, alongside any patience he ever had. “Let’s go to your place.”

When he pulls back, the other is smiling at him like the devil. Considering he’s seduced Marc into sin, it seems like an accurate comparison. “I’ve been waiting for you to say that.”

They don’t waste time mincing words, taking one another’s hand and running out of the hallway. They promptly exit the school, uncaring of the world going to shit around them. Ladybug and Chat Noir can take care of it; they always do.

And while the heroes take care of it, Marc and Nathaniel are going to take care of their insurmountable sexual tension. They’re gonna fuck hard enough, they’ll forget their own names.

* * *

When the pair show up to school the next day, they’re both trying very hard to walk normally instead of limping. They clutch at one another’s hands, leaning against each other for support, taking it slow.

Losing your virginity to multiple rounds of mind-blowing sex apparently takes it toll. Who knew? Well, Nathaniel and Marc certainly know now…

Their clasped hands and satisfied smiles are what captures their friends’ attention. Rose shrieks loudly—almost as loud as Nathaniel was last night, Marc can’t help but think—clutching at her girlfriend’s arm and bodily shaking a smiling Juleka. Alix thrusts both her fists in the air and whoops wildly. Marinette giggles and claps, beaming at the new couple.

“Did you two get together yesterday?” Marinette asks them kindly, wiggling a little in place.

Marc and Nathaniel exchange a long look, speaking through their gazes alone. “Yeah, during the Akuma attack,” Nathaniel confirms casually.

“I suppose our feelings just…poured out,” Marc adds in a vague not-explanation.

From the impish twinkle in the other’s uncovered eye, Marc can tell his boyfriend is barely keeping himself from making a comment about how Marc poured himself all over Nathaniel yesterday, and how he’d paid Marc the same attention in turn.

“Well, it took you two long enough!” Rose trills.

“Pot, meet kettle,” Nathaniel shoots back instantly, causing Rose to clamp her mouth shut and blush pink, Juleka blushing next to her.

“Well, congrats,” the goth girl mutters shyly, half-hiding behind her overgrown bangs.

“Yeah, congrats!” Marinette says simply, looking acutely nervous at also getting called out by the redhead. Smart of her to not insist on talking about it further, because Marc also has a few things he could tell Marinette that would proverbially steal her kneecaps.

Alix just stands back, blue eyes critical and roving across the new couple, observing. Taking in their expressions, the way they lean heavily against one another, the tender way the two shift around and try not to wince. When she opens her mouth to speak, she simply deadpans, “Just warn me when I can’t come over to hang anymore.”

“Sure thing,” Nathaniel chirps with a beatific smile, his best friend not believing his innocence for a second, rolling her eyes.

“At least now you’ll stop coming to me to thirst over Marc,” the skater girl grunts, shoving her hands in her shorts’ pockets and turning to leave. “Congrats. And God speed, Marc.”

Considering Marc learned yesterday just how much stamina his boyfriend has, and how deeply filthy his mind really was…Yeah. That’s a fair blessing.

Marc smiles fondly down at the smirking redhead. He leans down, leaving a sweet peck against the other’s temple, and Nathaniel blushes bright red. Marc giggles, endlessly charmed.

“Really? A kiss on the temple’s the thing that embarrasses you…?” he teases gently. Going unsaid is the fact that they just had wild and raunchy sex yesterday, but a simple kiss is what brings the spitfire to his knees.

“Sh-shut up,” Nathaniel stutters, leaning over to bury his red face against Marc’s red hoodie, his skin blending in with both the hoodie and his flame-bright hair. Rose, Marinette, and Juleka all coo at how the artist gets so flustered.

The smile on Marc’s slips goes achingly soft, as well as the swell of emotions in his heart. Nathaniel was worth the wait, even if it was a self-imposed one. But at least this way, Marc knows with one hundred percent certainty that their feelings are real, and mutual.

It certainly wasn’t the way Marc had ever imagined them pouring their hearts out, but it worked for them. And they were closer now than ever before.

Plus, the sex blew Marc’s imagination out of the water. Maybe he should pick up writing smut, with some first-hand knowledge under his belt…He’s sure Nathaniel wouldn’t mind helping him work out some sex scenes for research…

Hm. He’ll bring it up later. For now, they have school to worry about. As well as any and all nosy classmates questioning them about their new relationship. And if Lila Rossi happens to open her goddamn mouth about them again with her patented bullshit, well—Marc is happy to take a swing at her, this time.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't think of what type of sexy shenanigans the boys got into at Nath's place to write them out, sorry. Just know it probably involved the two switching. Switch Marc and Nathaniel rights.


End file.
